The hotel was built about 40 years ago, not exactly new but now occupying the area where a railway station once stood. The site had fallen into disrepair since it had been abandoned some years before.. The rail space between the platforms had been filled in so the hotel could be built. Only the original stone arch above the station entrance remained and was now part of the hotel entrance.
Graffiti artists had tagged the old station and neighbouring goods yard while the interior was similarly vandalised, but some of the old stonework had been carefully preserved and used to build a feature inside the reception lobby. The walls of the bar and restaurant displayed an abundance of monochrome photos of the old station. The old station clock hung majestically above the reception desk.
Few people who visited the hotel were railway enthusiasts but appreciated a comfortable hotel which was professionally run and which maintained high standards. The three storey building was large with various long passageways with rooms on either side. Everything was modern, user friendly and nothing was left to chance. The hotel even had its own maintenance man to repair anything which wasn’t working correctly. His expertise knew no bounds and ranged from replacing tap washers, replacing fuses right up to repairing the washing machines, vacuum cleaners and even the coffee makers. Archie Henderson was a hard worker and seemingly there was nothing which he couldn’t repair, renew or install.
Nobody knew exactly how old the maintenance man was and estimates ranged from 45 to 55, but Archie being Archie would never divulge the answer. He had his own workshop in the basement of the hotel and it basically was an Aladdin's Cave which housed all manner of items which had been or could be used to repair anything.
The shelves, boxes, metal cabinets and reels of electrical cable inside were a constant source of wonder to bemused members of staff who were privileged enough to be allowed entrance to the inner sanctum of what Archie called, “my shed”. To the untrained eye this room looked chaotic but Archie could locate anything from a washer to a wrench at any time and probably blindfolded. Inside Archie's shed was a large wooden cabinet with many small drawers which stood next to the back wall and housed many different small items.
The hotel manager, Duncan MacGregor, had known Archie for several years and was used to his way of working. Nobody in the hotel was allowed entry to Archie’s shed on pain of death and only the manager had a key which he kept secured in his own safe.
Archie was a popular member of staff and well known with returning guests who sometimes encountered him while he was working in various parts of the hotel. Nothing seemed too much trouble for Archie but he always managed to deftly sidestep any personal questions concerning his family.
With so many guests arriving and departing the reception was staffed by three full-time receptionists whose rota allowed for two on duty during the week and three at weekends when the hotel hosted a dinner dance each Saturday evening.
Even weekends didn’t provide respite for Archie who was occasionally called upon to do the odd quick repair.
On one occasion the duty manager was setting up the function room for a function for 180 guests that evening. The walls provided the constraints and he physically could not do this particular jigsaw. No matter what way he tried to accommodate all the guests, he ended up with a table for eight when he needed a table for four. The manager looked at it pragmatically and as always, came up with a solution to the logistical predicament and summoned Archie. The Maintenance guru, who when told of the problem and of the manager’s solution, scratched his head, took a deep breath in and puffed out his cheeks before shaking his head. “Aye, But are you sure that you want me to do that?” The manager was adamant, the table had to be bisected.
Over the period since the hotel had replaced the station there had been a few guests who reported that they could hear train whistles and the sound of shunting trains in the night, but most were happy to put it down to nocturnal dreaming. The railway had long since been rerouted and the new station built just over a mile away, but even so there was no longer a goods yard and no shunting of wagons.
On more than one occasion, guests had reported hearing a loud ticking in their room in the middle of the night. This only happened in one particular room which was on the second floor of the hotel. The young receptionists were at a loss and called the manager who was able to provide some degree of assurance.
The clock, now in the reception area, had had its ticking mechanism silenced, but as a keen railway historian, the manager explained that that particular room was in exactly the same location as the station clock has one been positioned. The manager was happy to show guests a large framed illustration which appeared to be a photograph but was in fact a detailed illustration showing the hotel superimposed upon the old station.
Most of the hotel staff lived away from the hotel and the three members of staff who did ‘live in’ were quite used to the stories and also the occasional sound which didn’t worry them at all. None of them believed in anything which may or may not go bump in the night.
While Archie had his own home, the manager occupied his own quarters on the top floor at the end of one of the corridors. His windows overlooked, at some distance away, what would have been the south portal of a long disused tunnel and now housed a tarmacadam cycle path complete with overhead lighting. Only once, had the manager thought he had seen something mysterious, one night at the entrance of the old tunnel but had thought no more about it and had dismissed it from his mind.
Other parts of the old station had thoughtfully been used inside the hotel as a feature but also to remind people of the former station. The door from the old station waiting room was now in place at the entrance to the residents lounge. Even some of the old lamps provided lighting for modern day travellers.
One particular black and white photograph hanging in the reception area had been enlarged and framed. It showed the extensive layout of the station and was surprisingly well focused bearing in mind that it was probably taken in the early 1960s when steam locomotives were gradually being replaced by the new diesels.
Next to that photo was another, slightly smaller framed image of the old Goods yard showing steam engines shunting old wagons.
The hotel bar, ‘The Buffers’ was especially popular in the evening where coffee and liqueurs were served after dinner. The hotel manager used this opportunity to mingle and welcome his guests, often telling interested guests little snippets of information about the former station.
All hotel staff were encouraged to learn as much as they could about the hotel and its history in order to be able to answer most if not all questions from guests. One question which never, or indeed, very rarely was asked was in relation to the period of six years between when the railway station closed until it was demolished. The construction of the new hotel began only two months after the demolition. The one person who knew all the answers was none other than Archie Henderson who was always happy to impart his encyclopaedic knowledge of railway history.
Archie was, however, evasive when it came to filling in the gaps between the station being closed and its subsequent demolition. The first person to notice this was the manager, who challenged the maintenance man and probed for answers. It did seem that Archie knew a lot more than he was letting on and this intrigued his boss. Duncan did have a way of getting around people and he figured that he could find out what he wanted without detriment.
One morning, after having breakfast the manager walked down to the basement of the hotel and headed along a corridor towards Archie’s shed. Duncan knocked and entered. He sat down on an old threadbare chair near the maintenance man’s desk. Archie was the first to speak. “I know why you’re here. You want to know what happened all those years ago.” Duncan nodded.
Archie rested back in his chair with his arms folded. “In 1972 the powers that be decided that they no longer had a use for this station so they decided to demolish it. The station and the neighbouring goods yard were deemed surplus to requirements. Thing was, though, that there was no time-frame to carry out the work. The station was closed and lay abandoned for about four years. Although it was boarded up and meant to be secure, it wasn’t. People still found their way inside.”
After pausing for a few seconds, Archie got up and locked the door of his shed. “Follow me!” Archie led him to the far end of his shed past rows and rows of boxes and reels of electrical cable and down a couple of stone steps into a gloomy smaller room. Archie turned on the light to reveal another workshop but looking a lot more antiquated than his shed.
“Bloody Hell!” Duncan was astonished and completely shocked that this place even existed. “I never knew this was here. What is this place?” Archie smiled, “This was my old workshop!”
The Manager looked at him quizzically. Archie looked straight at him. “In the 60s and early 70’s, I was the maintenance manager in charge of the station and the goods yard.” Duncan looked puzzled, mentally calculating Archie’s age but also listening intently. Archie saw the manager looking around this old and obsolete room and reckoned that now was as good a time as any. Leading the manager towards the far end of this long and narrow work area and towards an old brown wooden door that looked older and more battered than anything else. Archie turned and looked at Duncan. “I hope you’re ready for this!” Duncan replied that he was.
Archie slowly and gradually opened the old creaking door. Duncan looked out into an old railway station with trains arriving or departing. He was met with the distinctive smell of steam and oil. Billowing smoke rose haphazardly from the chimneys of large and dirty engines up towards the blackened roof of the railway terminus. Platforms were bustling with people and the sound of whistles being blown. Railway porters in British Rail attire pushing their large barrows full of cases and leather bags belonging to travellers while announcements blared out from the overhead tannoys.
Duncan was speechless for a few seconds before asking, “Is this real?”
Archie was emphatic, “Of course it’s bloody real. Go into the station and walk around the corner and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Duncan, mumbled under his breath and stormed out onto the station concourse which was even busier than before. He could see the steam trains and hear the tannoy announcements. He fought his way through the throng of travellers and out of the station onto a busy street. No sign of the hotel, only the large brick built station with some rundown shops beside and people hanging around nearby.
The street was bustling with people going about their business unaware that the hotel manager had quite literally just walked into his own nightmare. Duncan stood there watching people pass him by. People dressed as they would have been in the late 1960’s. Even the motor vehicles were all of that era. Not only was he alone, but he felt alone, vulnerable and scared. He began to perspire as he realised the enormity of what was happening to him. The only person he knew was Archie, so he retraced his steps and entered the station. Busier than ever now as it was nearly lunchtime. “Shit, I’ve got a party of 47 for lunch today and I’m walking around a bloody station in the 1960’s !” Duncan mumbled under his breath as the fear and panic rose within him.
As he walked across the concourse towards the maintenance manager’s office he realised that he might never see his hotel or the present day again. Entering the workshop, he saw Archie sitting back in his chair. “Well, what do you think?”
“I think I need a bloody drink!” He looked at his watch and made his way out of both workshops and back into the hotel corridor. A few minutes later, he was asking the barman for a brandy! He never drank on duty until the late evening but reckoned he could make an exception after his experience.
He made it along to the front door of the hotel in time to welcome the lunch party on arrival. Duncan then went to the reception desk and asked the receptionist, the young receptionist, to phone the workshop and ask Archie to come to his office. She was quite obviously confused when she replied, “The hotel doesn’t have a workshop, and who is Archie?”
Duncan was now losing patience and replied, curtly, “I’ll do it my bloody self!” The manager then turned and disappeared down the old service stairs to the basement corridor. He walked along till he came to the door of Archie’s shed but noticed the carved wooden plaque proclaiming ‘Achie’s Shed’ was no longer there, he turned the handle and went to walk in but stopped immediately. It was no more than a large cupboard full of bulbs and fluorescent striplights. Archie's shed was quite definitely not there.
The nearest room to Archie’s shed was the Sewing Room so called because all the torn sheets, duvets and curtains etc that needed repairing were taken there to be mended. Duncan knocked on the door, knowing that Maureen who had worked there for years, would be behind her sewing machine. He entered into the small but functional room. The woman behind mending curtains was bright and cheerful but wasn’t Maureen, “Hello, can I help you?”
Duncan enquired, “Have you seen Archie?” The woman’s smile disappeared. “Eh…sorry who are you and why are you down here? Guests shouldn’t be below stairs!!” The manager was becoming concerned. “It’s Duncan, your manager!” The woman had already lifted the receiver and dialled 066. This code put the call through to reception and automatically put it onto loudspeaker so that the receptionist and anybody nearby could hear what was going on and alert security.
Within seconds two men arrived at the Sewing Room door. One was a muscular security guard in plain clothes and the other was a tall slim man, immaculately attired. The woman looked at the tall newcomer and told Duncan, “This is Mr Raeburn, the hotel manager and Brorda, the Hungarian heavy.” Duncan just stood there, speechless. Mr Raeburn possessed a deep voice of authority, “Now unless there is anything else, I will ask my colleague beside me to remove you from the premises. You can of course offer me some kind of explanation!”
Duncan was now ready. "I'm the bloody manager here. You can disappear and take that goon with you." The security guard was primed and ready to kill but was being held back by Mr Raeburn. Duncan continued, "I don't take intimidation lightly!"
Mr Raeburn stepped forward and looked Duncan straight in the eye and without shifting his gaze summoned security. “Brorda, will you please escort this gentleman out of the hotel.” Duncan was unceremoniously ejected from the hotel by way of a service door.
Now out on the street, Duncan was contemplating his next move although he was running short of possibilities. Everything around him was as it ever was and most definitely modern with no sign of retro vehicles, trains or clothing. He walked by the front of the hotel and turned left along a narrow alleyway towards the rear of the hotel. There was no station and everything looked as ordinary as it ever did.
With renewed vigour he decided to return to the front entrance of the hotel. Walking purposefully into the lobby he saw Claire behind the reception desk who called out “Mr MacGregor, I have three messages for you. The lunch party asked me to pass on their thanks for a superb lunch, Archie needs to talk to you about boarding up some door and I received a phone call from somebody called a Mr Raeburn, from head office. Wants you to phone him back. He’s just taken over as Area Manager and wants to congratulate you on winning the ‘Best Hotel in the Group’ award.”
Copyright © IanmAllan2024
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